Better Than One
by CoryphaeusRex
Summary: Men don't understand Bellatrix Black, and she's not helping with the misinterpretation. Slightly AU backstory, written for thedragonchaser. Rated for language, nothing else.
1. Bellatrix

**Author's Notes & Disclaimer:** Multi-chapter fic, she wants. Well, I am nothing if not obliging. This is written to a specification by thedragonchaser, and may she be happy with it. I don't own Harry Potter, nor any Death Eaters (it'd be fun to have like, Death Eater action figures, tho). Men tend to misinterpret young Bellatrix Black, much to her displeasure.

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"I'm sorry, Bellatrix."

"Are you?" she says, her back to him, looking out of the window. They are high up in one of the rooms of Malfoy manor, and she feels like a princess, looking out of an enchanted tower in a fairytale. She has yet to find a prince worthy of climbing the vines, though. This one addressing her appears to have bribed the witch on guard and got in using underhanded means.

"I don't think this is going to work."

"Oh," she presses her forehead against the window, sees the mist form on the glass as she exhales.

"It was fun, though, wasn't it? A jolly good little fling."

_Oh stop talking_, she thinks, as her hands clench on the windowsill and she resists the urge to throw a punch at him. He's such a tosser, she can't believe she even crawled into his bed in the first place. All for the favour of a prefect, a few rules bent in the right places. How fucking degrading.

"And is my sister being a jolly good fling, too?" she asks, and the silence that greets her tells that she's hit a nerve.

"Your... sister?" he asks, and his voice wavers a little.

She smiles. "You know the one. Tall, blonde, legs all the way up to her armpits. You can't really miss her."

There's another little pause in the conversation, and she wonders if she can get to her wand, tucked in the centre of her bra, and hex him before he can get a Shield Charm up. Knowing the amount of time it takes him to get everything else up, she thinks she could get in a good three jinxes.

"I love her, Bellatrix," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"Do you now?"

"I, um, I hope you don't mind."

"You hope I don't _mind_?" she says, turning from her window, her voice rising to a screech. "Oh, of course, that's fine, bed-hop over to my sister, give her the same litanies of adoration you gave to _me_. Don't forget to tell her that I was better in every fucking way."

"That isn't what I meant, Bella."

"You _dare_ call me that?" she's screaming now, and she knows how it's going to sound to everyone downstairs, probably there with their ears pressed to the door of the spiral staircase. "You fucking inadequate prick! I hope she enjoys you and your limp dick as much as I fucking didn't!"

"Steady on, Bellatrix."

"Oh, piss off, Lucius. I've been done with you for a long fucking time. Get out of my damn sight. If I see you in the next week or so I'll cut your knob off and feed it to the Doxys in the broom cupboard."

Lucius flees for his life, and Bellatrix sits down on the floor heavily. She starts to laugh, and it isn't long before she's crying with it, the hilarity and the irony and the big joke that only she seems to see.


	2. Lucius

He twists his cane in his hands, wishing he could have just sent one of the house elves to do this and get it done with. His palms are sweaty, and he smoothes his hair back from his face with a slightly shaky hand. He wishes he could see her face.

"I'm sorry, Bellatrix."

"Are you?" She sounds upset already, that first kind of upset where you can't quite take it in. Lucius flinches, and carries on.

"I don't think this is going to work."

"Oh."

"It was fun, though, wasn't it? A jolly good little fling."

_Lucius, leave the prep school behind you one day, okay?_ He could kick himself, it's such a stupid and pretentious thing to say, and it's a lie in the extreme. What he once felt for Bellatrix informed his every waking hour. Right at the start, when he'd first started taking an interest in her, he let her off with all sorts of things, gave her house points when she smiled. It was stupid and childish but he'd have done more if he could.

"And is my sister being a jolly good fling, too?"

She knows, and it makes a chill slide down his spine. She knows the reason he went to talk to her mother the other day wasn't to ask for her hand in marriage. Druella hadn't cared, as long as he was a pure-blood with a long pedigree, she didn't care which daughter he wed.

"Your... sister?"

"You know the one. Tall, blonde, legs all the way up to her armpits. You can't really miss her."

"I love her, Bellatrix," he says, and he's ashamed of how his voice sounds, weak and feeble.

"Do you now?"

"I, um, I hope you don't mind."

"You hope I don't _mind_? Oh, of course, that's fine, bed-hop over to my sister, give her the same litanies of adoration you gave to _me_. Don't forget to tell her that I was better in every fucking way."

_She isn't_, Lucius wants to say, but he knows he'd be lying. Bella was better in certain specialised ways; she's the only girl to make him come three times in a night, for example, but it's Narcissa who makes his heart skip a beat.

"That isn't what I meant, Bella."

"You _dare_ call me that? You fucking inadequate prick! I hope she enjoys you and your limp dick as much as I fucking didn't!"

"Steady on, Bellatrix."

"Oh, piss off, Lucius. I've been done with you for a long fucking time. Get out of my damn sight. If I see you in the next week or so I'll cut your knob off and feed it to the Doxys in the broom cupboard."

He leaves her to scream, trying not to curl his hands protectively over his crotch as he leaves. Outside, on the stairs, Rodolphus is sitting, tossing a Galleon in the air and catching it in his hand. _Nouveau-riches,_ Lucius thinks, in disgust.

"She's all yours," he says.


	3. Bellatrix Again

Bellatrix is curled in the corner, the tears streaming down her face. She's hiccupping, and she chokes out a laugh, because it's beyond ridiculous. The door creaks open, and she looks up.

Rodolphus' head is poking around the door, hesitantly. She waves a hand and beckons him in, gulping down another little half-laugh. He crosses the room, sits down on the floor next to her, and cautiously puts his arm round her shoulders. Even though she knows his game, she leans against him anyway.

"I heard what happened," he says, and she hiccups again.

"So did half of Wiltshire."

He chuckles, and rubs her arm, as though he's trying to warm it up. Doesn't he know her pure blood is colder than the normal stuff that runs in everyone else's veins. The thought makes her giggle.

"Their children are going to be disgustingly angelic," she says, apropos of nothing.

"Blond and blonder. I can see your point. It'll be like a little pale wisp."

"And that's the bloodline," Bellatrix sighs, stretching her fingers out in front of her, turning them into claws and inspecting her impressive nails. "Because I, of course, am going to be an old, mad spinster in a tower. Don't forget to wall up the door on your way out, it'll save time later."

"You just need someone darker to look good next to," Rodolphus says, and she looks up at him, with his chocolate brown hair, pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. These men and their long hair, she could run through the corridors with scissors and have enough to stuff a sofa. Lucius, Rodolphus, Severus, Barty, Amycus, Regulus, all of them with stupid amounts of hair. It's 1977 and they've taken on Muggle fashions, these champions of purity and breeding. She wants to shave them all.

"Who on earth could you be referring to, Rodophus?" she asks, carefully, with a little smile that says she knows exactly what he's up to but she's not going to encourage him.

"Oh, I don't know. It's your choice, after all, isn't it?" So that's the game.

"Feminism is dead," she says, pouting at him. "Not that it ever particularly thrived in my house."

"Oh, Bellatrix," he says, and she can hear the pity in his voice, and she wants to claw his eyes out for _daring_ to pity her. "You're such a beautiful blossom, it's a shame you're cooped up in that house."

"So you want to be the one to take me away from it all, then?" she says, swaying towards him.

"Should you wish it," he says, and kisses her.

She bites his lip until she draws blood, lots of blood, then with her teeth stained red and the taste of metal in her mouth, she releases him, and sends him sprawling onto the floor with a shove.

"Come back when your blood tastes sweeter, Rodolphus," she calls, as he gathers his dignity and strides out the door, slamming it behind him.


	4. Rodolphus

Rodolphus counts to a hundred outside the door, taking deep breaths and trying not to make too much noise and give the game away. He brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear, wipes his sweaty palms on his robes, and opens the door, slowly.

She's there on the floor, eyes red from crying, and it breaks his heart to see her. Even though it's necessary, even though she has to cry over Lucius before she can be with him, it causes a pang in his chest to see her so broken.

She beckons him in, and he sits down beside her, putting his arm around her after a moment's thought. She leans into him, and he suppresses the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. He's still in with a chance here.

"I heard what happened," he says.

"So did half of Wiltshire," she croaks, and his arm twitches. He wants to cuddle her close and stop her tears.

"Their children are going to be disgustingly angelic," she says, and it takes him a moment or two to realise who she is talking about.

"Blond and blonder. I can see your point. It'll be like a little pale wisp."

"And that's the bloodline. Because I, of course, am going to be an old, mad spinster in a tower. Don't forget to wall up the door on your way out, it'll save time later." He knows she's joking, he _hopes_ she's joking, because if she isn't that's one of the greatest tragedies the world has ever seen. Bellatrix could never be a mad spinster, she was made to be a beautiful bride and he wants, so badly, for her to be _his_ bride.

"You just need someone darker to look good next to."

"Who on earth could you be referring to, Rodophus?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's your choice, after all, isn't it?" he blushes, and curses himself for doing so.

"Feminism is dead. Not that it ever particularly thrived in my house."

"Oh, Bellatrix. You're such a beautiful blossom, it's a shame you're cooped up in that house." Poetry. Pure, bad, poetry. It sounded better when he was rehearsing it in his room, where the words echoed. Here, they fall flat.

"So you want to be the one to take me away from it all, then?" she leans towards him, and the cold sweat returns.

"Should you wish it," he says, and he can't hold on any more, and kisses those perfect lips.

Pain. Sharp, focused pain, just too much for him to dismiss. He tastes blood, and as she shoves him to the floor he hits his head on the boards. Where did this go so wrong?

"Come back when your blood tastes sweeter, Rodolphus."

He will. He knows he will. No matter what she does next time, how badly she hurts him or hexes him or dashes his hopes with her disdain, he'll keep coming back, until his blood is as sweet as wine to her.


	5. Tom

Bellatrix is still sulking in her tower when Tom arrives. He expresses the vaguest interest as to where she is, and Lucius falls over himself to give him exact directions. There's an aura of tension in the house, sweet and heavy on the air, and it reminds Tom of his childhood, so far away and yet still ready to ambush him around every corner.

He ascends the stairs, passes Rodolphus halfway, spitting blood and trying to hold his lip together with his hand.

Very interesting.

He decides that he will humour this child who stomps her foot and thinks she's a princess and has drawn everyone's attention towards her like iron filings to a magnet. He could use her skills, this little girl, if she can cause this much confusion with people who know her, and are used to her ways.

She could cause chaos on a grand and beautiful scale.

"Miss Black."

"My lord," she says, and practically prostrates herself on the floor. He can see a few droplets of blood on the boards.

"Who have you been maiming, child?" he asks, and she grovels a little lower.

"Those who would seek to control me, my Lord."

He wonders if she realises how that sounds. She's kneeling on the floor, in front of a man she's only spoken a hundred words to in her lifetime, and she's telling him she rejects control. From this angle, it doesn't look like that.

"And which of my _followers_ would that be?" he places subtle emphasis on the words, and hears her gasp as she draws herself up and folds her bloody hands in her lap, waiting for punishment.

"I didn't mean to-" she says, and he tuts. She falls silent.

"You did."

"I didn't think, my Lord."

"No. You didn't. And now, you must face the consequences of your lack of thought. Raise your arm above your head."

Bellatrix lifts her right arm. Tom sighs. She's expecting punishment, still, anticipating it with every fibre of her body. He can read her like a book.

"Your _left_ arm, Miss Black, if you please."

She looks up at him, then, with burning hope in her eyes, and he smiles his thin-lipped smile at her. She's seen them on Lucius and Rodolphus and Igor, but she doesn't realise what it really _is_ to take the Dark Mark. She'll be his devastating _femme fatale,_ a more aesthetic addition to the group than dear Alecto, but there will be a price. She'll have to deny that burning deep within her for his body and his hands, as he'll never touch someone who is his chattel, property, bought and paid for.

It is his way of keeping her out of mischief. Maybe she'll find solace with one of the other Death Eaters, something to fill the empty spot within her soul. Tom smiles, knowing it'll never be enough for her. She'll die unfulfilled, empty. How beautiful. How poetic.

She screams as the spell bites deep into her arm.


End file.
